


Sonata

by Lalacier



Series: Ahead on Our Way [3]
Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-14
Updated: 2015-03-14
Packaged: 2018-03-17 21:21:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3544214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lalacier/pseuds/Lalacier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tifa faces the music of her past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sonata

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to nautilusopus on tumblr for beta-reading!

Dusk was falling by the time Tifa rounded the corner, the neon ‘BAR’ sign flickering and welcoming her back. It was a little garish, temperamental at the best of times, but even so, it set her at ease. The sign was crooked, the paint was peeling, and the decal above the door read less ‘Seventh Heaven’ and more ‘Seent Havn’. It wasn’t perfect, but it was home. ****

She’d been ushered out of the door that morning by Barret with an urgency she couldn’t bring herself to question. He was back in Edge for a few days, a brief respite in his search for alternative energy to Mako, and naturally he was anxious to spend as much time as he could with Marlene. This morning, though , he’d all but thrown her out the door. “Don’t you worry ‘bout a thing! I got it covered here! You go treat yo’self for once!” he’d ordered, and there’d been no room for argument.

Tifa knew he wanted to spend time with Marlene, and she wouldn’t have stopped him. Did he think she would, and wanted her out of the way? No—this wasn’t the first time he’d returned to Edge and she’d never been pushed out like this before. Barret would take Marlene, and sometimes Denzel, out for the day, or else they’d be in the back while she pottered around the bar, cleaning tables down and mopping the floor, twice if she had to to stay out of the way.

Well, she wasn’t going to argue. The bar was stocked and she’d done most of the cleaning the night before. Tuesdays were always a slow night so she could catch up on what she’d missed in the lulls. If Barret wanted her out of the way, she’d get out of the way.

Cloud had left in the early morning. She’d heard the door click shut behind him while she was stirring, followed by Fenrir’s engine roaring to life and the soft rumble as he sped away down the road. A delivery to Junon, he’d told her last night; he’d be gone for most of the day.  
Kept away from her own bar, Cloud out on the road—she hadn’t really known what to do with herself. In the end, she’d stopped by the market district to pick up a few things—a new pair of shoes for Marlene to replace the ones she’d scuffed; longer trousers for Denzel who seemed to be growing at a rate they couldn’t keep up with—before taking herself away to the church, pruning the flowers the way Aerith liked.

She was glad to be home now. She’d never liked being a spare part.

Tifa turned the key in the lock and stepped into the bar. It was dim, not yet ready to open for the night, and seemed twice as big without any bodies to squeeze between.

But it wasn’t quiet.

There were none of the usual sounds that greeted her home: the tinkling of Marlene’s laughter, the stampede of feet across floorboards, the television turned down in the background, narrating it all. It might have set her on edge had it not been for the sounds that  _ were  _ there.

Notes— _ music _ notes, and not from the radio either. They were pure, if a little out of tune and cautious, hesitant. Tifa stood and listened, mouth hanging open in a little ‘O’ and the bag from the market hanging slack in her hand. It was a melody she recognised; a tune she  _ knew _ deep in the bones of her, despite the fits and starts, the brief pauses while the player, whoever it was, oriented themselves and found the right note. Once or twice, they’d catch the wrong key but she knew the tune regardless; her fingers twitched at her sides, aching to correct it. A second later and the tune would continue on, with the right note this time.

A flat chord broke her daze. Tifa strode forward, all but throwing the bag down onto the counter, and pushed through into the lounge. There was Barret, sat in the armchair with Marlene on his knee; there was Denzel, cross-legged on the carpet, gazing up; and there was Cloud, seated on a stool with his back to her, hands gliding across—

The sound tore from her throat before she could stop it, caught somewhere between a gasp and a sob.

Cloud’s fingers stilled, the room quieted and all turned to look at her. Marlene’s eyes lit up. She scrambled from Barret’s knee, skipped across the room and launched her arms around Tifa’s waist. “Welcome home!” she cried. “Cloud isn’t very good and Papa says you can play better but we couldn’t wait to hear it! Do you like it?”

There was so much hope and love in those eyes. Tifa almost couldn’t stand it. She looked down, put her hand on top of Marlene’s head and smiled. She hoped it would do. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tifa…” 

She raised her head from Marlene, willing herself to keep the smile on her face. Cloud had twisted on the stool to look at her, brow furrowed just slightly. She made herself smile wider.

Marlene tugged on her sleeve. “I wanted it to be a surprise! There’s a lady in town who plays and I told Papa I wanted to be as good as that lady. And then he told me that you could play the piano too!”

“Don’t you like it, Tifa?” Denzel asked. His brow was furrowed too. “Cloud said it had been a long time since you played, but we thought you might like it, so you could play again.”

Was she still smiling? “I do, Denzel, I do. I...I’m just surprised. It’s so big! It nearly takes up all the room!” She forced a laugh, dry and humourless. “Thank you,” she added, because the kids had done this for her and regardless of everything else, that’s what mattered.

Denzel’s shoulders relaxed, placated. Marlene squealed with delight, tugging on her wrist, begging her to play. Tifa didn’t miss the way Barret and Cloud glanced between each other.

“ Yo,” Barret boomed, pushing himself up, “Mama’s got work to do. You kids are damn expensive, you know! C’mon, Marlene, time for bed.”  
“ You, too, Denzel,” Cloud added.

Denzel opened his mouth to protest but one look from Cloud made him shut it again. He nodded, pushing himself off the floor and going to Barret’s side. Tifa could hear Marlene chattering excitedly all the way up the stairs, how she couldn’t wait for Tifa to teach her how to play, how she’d be better than even the lady on the street.

When the sound of their footsteps quieted into the creaks of the floorboards over their heads, Cloud turned back. “Tifa—”

“Junon, huh?” she interrupted, forcing the smile back onto her face. She looked straight at him. At least he had the grace to look uncomfortable.

Cloud dipped his chin a little, rubbing the back of his neck. “It seemed important to Marlene that you didn’t know.”

The smile slipped. Tifa looked past Cloud, to the off-white keys and the scratched wood. It wasn’t in the best of conditions, but it had seemed to play well enough. It probably needed new strings, but a proper tuning would sort most of its problems out. She shook her head. “Where did you even find it?”

“Barret found it a few months ago. An abandoned church just outside of Junon.”

“You weren’t delivering today. You were helping to bring it here.”

Cloud nodded. He drew a breath, held it for a second, as if hesitating. “Tifa,” he began, “I can take it away.”

The sudden tightness in her chest took her breath away. They all meant well, she knew. Barret was just doing whatever he could for Marlene, to make up for all the time he spent away. And the children were just children—they couldn’t understand her hesitation, how could they? But Cloud—well, Cloud understood; Tifa knew by the knitting of his brows, the slight dip at the corners of his mouth. She suspected he’d known all along, but couldn’t bring himself to let Marlene down. She shook her head a little. “No, it’s...it’s fine,” she breathed. “It’s just a piano.”

From above, Barret’s voice boomed down, followed by a fit of giggles from both Marlene and Denzel. Cloud stood from the stool, his bright eyes never leaving her face. They stood like that a moment, Tifa shifting her weight from one foot to the other, before Cloud nodded and walked past her. “I’ll open the bar,” he said. “Take your time.”

Tifa wasn’t convinced he meant in getting ready.

  
  


 

 

It wasn’t a typical Tuesday night. Tifa had left Cloud to open the bar, heading upstairs to shower off the dirt and grime of Edge that inevitably stuck. The sound of the water gushing (and the echoes of notes floating through her head) couldn’t disguise the clatter of glasses and the increasing chatter of rowdy men, the shouts of “Hey, Cloud! Can I get another drink here?” She’d just finished pulling on a clean set of clothes when she heard the glass shatter, voices rising up until one cut through it all, Cloud’s simple bellow of “ _ Out _ !” putting an end to it all. She’d walked into the bar to a group of sheepish young men with their heads down, and Cloud, sweeping up the shards, shoulders hunched and an angry dash of red colouring his cheeks. That had set the tone for the rest of the night really.

She’d sent Cloud upstairs about half an hour before closing. “You opened up. I can handle the closing,” she’d insisted and he’d left without much resistance. It had been a long evening and even Tifa had felt like closing up early.

With the customers finally gone the house had descended into silence again, save for the rumble of Barret’s snoring and the occasional creak of the floorboards in Cloud’s room. There was the chinking of glass coming together as Tifa swept around the tables, collecting tumblers and shot glasses. There was the splash of water as she dropped them into the sink. There was the swish of the brush bristles when she swept the floor. And underneath it all, there was the gentle humming of a tune she knew deep in her bones.

Tifa closed the door to the bar behind her with a gentle click. The living room was dim, a standing lamp in the corner the only light Cloud had left on for her, but she could see it clearly, that great behemoth of a thing. It demanded her attention now as it had done all evening, even while she was out in the bar, mixing drinks and holding off lewd advances.

She stepped further into the room. The stool was too low for playing, really; she’d have to buy a proper bench the next time she went to the market, or at least something a little higher. It wouldn’t do to injure her wrists. And the strings—she didn’t know where she’d be able to find new strings in Edge (maybe she could ask Cloud to make some enquiries the next time he made a delivery to Kalm) and it had always been her father who tuned the strings before, but she’d watched him enough times that she could give it a good go herself. And really, her fingers were rough and calloused from years of training and fighting and, more recently, months of dunking her hands in hot water. Not at all suited to playing the piano.

Tifa found herself with her fingertips on the keys anyway. 

All at once the melody that the very bones of her knew was flowing from her fingers, edging the silence from the room. She pressed the keys gently, afraid to wake the children, but the bubble of...of  _ something _ knotted in her chest urged her on, urged her to play and play and play. Louder, it wanted. Louder and faster, and more passionate.

She played until her fingers tingled and her wrists ached. She played until it was second nature again, until she didn’t have to think about the next note and the correct chord. She played until she wasn’t sat in a little bar in Edge, where they were still learning to pick up the pieces of their lives, but in a timber-framed house in Nibelheim with her mother and father at either side, beaming with pride.

She’d never touched a piano after she left for Midgar. In the slums, music was a luxury people couldn’t afford. So like everything else—her mother, father, her hometown, her  _ childhood _ — she’d grieved. She’d mourned for the passion she’d never feel again. She’d said goodbye.

But it had returned. The wood was scratched and dented, the ivory yellowed and the pedal stiff underfoot; the notes weren’t as bright and no matter how she played them the melodies were always something like a dirge. Even so, the joy she felt now was the same as the joy she felt then.

_ It had returned to her. _

“ Tifa?”

Tifa turned to the door, hands still resting lightly on the keys. She felt lighter, somehow, than she did when she’d returned home. She smiled at Cloud, lingering at the bottom of the stairs, the concern so clear to see in his eyes. “You know,” she said softly, watching Cloud step into the doorway, brow furrowing deeper. She smiled wider. “You kind of butchered that. I could teach you to play it properly.”

Cloud’s shoulders relaxed. He crouched down beside her, resting his hand on her hand resting on the keys. And she played.

 


End file.
